Blame It on the Little Wooden Man
by SrslyNo
Summary: House and Wilson are spreading their lurve all over the hospital, and then Cuddy finds out. Fluff. Humorous. One-shot.


**Title:** Blame It on the Little Wooden Man

**Author:** srslyyes

**Summary:** House and Wilson are spreading lurve all over the hospital, and then Cuddy finds out. Something to cheer all of us up after DCE.

**Characters:** House/Wilson

**Rating:** R for language

**Warning:** Fluff. A long overdue humorous story.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Never will be. Just playing with my House and Wilson dolls.

**A/N:** I finished my first fic for the **gethouselaid** community with House/Wilson at the hospital, and thought I'd do an homage to all the creative writers whose stories are set at PPTH.

Also, a thank you to **chickloveslotr** at Live Journal for designing the thumbnail pic that is the second inspiration for this story. Unbeta'd.

Concrit welcome.

* * *

First there was a 911 from Cuddy. House wasn't leaving "Passion's Promise" for anything so boring. He knew Wilson was with her. The appointment was for the two of them, but he figured Wilson would work his charms on her.

When Wilson's beeper spasmodically displayed "4555" (Wilson's panic code for 911 multiplied by five), he decided he better pay a visit to the Dean of Medicine and extricate his friend.

A decided chill greeted him as he closed in on the glass French doors. He could see Cuddy reading from a sheet of paper, her face enrobed with a serious expression. With one hand partially covering his face, Wilson occupied one of two chairs that sat directly across from Cuddy's desk. He sprawled in his seat. His back inching lower every second. Nope. Not a good sign.

As he limped in he heard what she was reading. It was a list of locations in the hospital: "Doctor's lounge, nurse's lounge, cafeteria kitchen and dining room, boiler room, House's conference room, all the regular conference rooms except the ones on the third floor…"

_Uh-ooooh._ His mind was connecting the dots. This was about him and Wilson playing hide-the-salami throughout the vast maze of specialized rooms and offices of Princeton-Plainsboro. You might say it was their own sub-specialty.

Cuddy's grey eyes glanced up from the paper, but without halting she pointed to him to take the chair next to Wilson's. "Radiology, the blood bank, the elevators, the roof, garage, all the supply closets on all of the floors." She slowed down to emphasize her point, "in all of the wings." She took a double take. "Uh, except floor three." For a moment she looked perplexed.

You could be a moron and still know where this was headed, but House wouldn't be the one to confess, and from Wilson's silence and the undisturbed full head of steamy foam on cappuccino a la Cuddy, he didn't think Wilson revealed anything.

He thought now was a good time to deflect, "Taking an inventory of the hospital, Cuddy? The garage was just where it was yesterday."

"You and Wilson did quite an inventory of your own. Did you think you wouldn't get caught?!"

Leave it to Cuddy to twist his remark back to her point. She'd really make a perfect mother.

"I don't know what you're talking about. My apartment has it's own roof and garage. Thanks."

The luminous cool grey pools stared directly toward him, "Since you were late, I'll start again for your benefit…both your offices, both your balconies, Dr. Brown's office, Cameron's, Taub's, my office, my couch—"

"Much better than Wilson's"

Cuddy's lady-like voice was almost a growl, "My DESK"

"Also, better than Wilson's. Yours is larger and much more cushy because of all your paperwork. Wilson's is crowded with sharp pointy objects his patients call gifts."

Apparently, she reached her breaking point. She slammed both hands down on the desk, "How can two professional doctors act like rutting pigs?!" She trained her eyes on the two men in front of her. House saw her panther-like eyes assessing which one was the weakest of the pair, and be the easiest to take down. She locked onto her target and directed her question to Wilson. Cooing gently in a kindergarten teacher's voice, her words undercut the tone, "I can understand House doesn't give a rat's ass about propriety, but you, Wilson?"

_Don't Wilson. Don't open your mouth._

Wilson was turning red. His face scrunched into his trembling hand. House thought he'd go in for a save and pulled a long face, "Cuddy, you're upsetting Wilson. You shouldn't make a department head cry."

"Cry?! You think I'm an idiot?! He's laughing his ass off. He can hardly keep from falling out of his chair!"

Busted, Wilson finally removed his hand, but did so while wiping away a couple of leaking tears.

_Yeah, very funny, Wilson. You're not gonna laugh when you start your life sentence on death row -- what Cuddy's fondly calls the "clinic."_

Eyes returned to the paper as she drawled, "The pharmacy, clinic exam rooms 1, 2 and 4. The MRI lab."

"Don't hedge your bets, Cuddy. Choose one or the other. The observation room or the MRI table?"

Cuddy fixed House with a steady stare and flapped the piece of paper. "Why would you leave either out? You and Wilson's only requirement is a flat surface." She looked down her list, and raised her hand. "I take that back, a flat surface isn't required. You were in the laundry room's industrial dryers too."

Pumping his fist up and down House rang out, "Rock and roll is here to stay."

A cheerful response of, "Fluff and fold forever" echoed from the Felix Unger side of the team.

Pausing to look from one to the other in amazement, Cuddy took a breath and continued, "All operating rooms and observations areas, except OR3." Exasperated, the palms of her hands once again struck the desktop, "What is it about you guys and the number three? Do I have to re-number all the rooms to keep you out, because I will."

"Wilson avoids three's since his 3rd divorce. He thinks it's unlucky." From the corner of his eye he caught a shudder of agreement from the man beside him.

Cuddy nodded to herself as she scratched a reminder on a notepad.

_Damn_. The admission was going to cost him. If all the rooms started with a three, he'd have to get Wilson plastered before he could bone him.

House rolled his eyes as Cuddy relentlessly droned, "The testing lab, the men's rooms, the ladies rooms, except—

--House and Wilson nodded and joined along "Floor three."

Getting impatient, she rose to her feet, "The chapel." She dropped her hands to her side and implored, "Honestly, is nothing sacred between the two of you?"

"House turned to his spineless but adorable fuck buddy, "See? God snitched. Didn't I say you couldn't put your trust in Bruce Almighty? He'll screw you every time."

Wilson blinked in mock surprise, "In the chapel? That wasn't you?"

Not amused, Cuddy smoothed the sheet of booty calls on her desk. "Have I overlooked any places?"

Both House and Wilson stretched forward in their seats, their faces betraying eager curiosity as they answered simultaneously, "You mean there are places we missed?"

How many ways could Cuddy glare? Evidently, almost as many as their indiscretions.

She stopped and inhaled a long breath, sipping coyly from a glass of water on her desk. "Come on fella's. I've got you dead to rights. Why not indulge me and 'fess up. I have the evidence right here." From behind her desk she pulled out assorted pieces of surveillance equipment and a box labeled "biohazardous waste."

Looking over the devices and recordings, House sensed a moment of déjà vu. He was once again in a high stakes poker game with the Dean of Medicine. Her tell with the water, and the prickles on the back of his neck advised him that Cuddy was bluffing. "You can't possibly have any evidence on that equipment. Wils—we like to do it silently in the dark."

Cuddy smirked. She opened a drawer and removed a roll of thick plastic, spreading it over the desk and snapped on surgical gloves she found in another drawer. Sitting down along side the box, she opened the red plastic bag that nestled in its interior and searched through the bag bringing out handfuls of exhibits supporting her claim.

Wilson's hand went back to covering his eyes while House was determined to keep a straight face as he recognized mementos from their lustful past.

She pointed to the growing volcano of soy sauce, Parmesan, and chili flake packets. A sprinkling of Vicodin pills threatened to slide off the plastic. A couple of pocket protectors and several black dry-erase markers joined the delegation. "These were found in varying combinations all over the hospital." She made a face as she held up a thin leathery slice of corned beef.

"The markers could be anyone's," House parried.

"But, it's the expensive brand that you insist on using. No one else does or cares. Besides…" Cuddy wiggled the marker between her fingers. "There are teeth marks. Would either one of you care to see if these match with your own?"

Now Wilson was frowning at him. If the man wasn't sitting, his hands would be on his hips.

How many times did Wilson lecture him about blending in with the herd? Well, he was a maverick. One helluva randy maverick.

"Oh, and what do we have here?" Cuddy's voice remained sweet and musical as she removed an unpainted wooden jointed figure. The kind artists use to draw accurate body angles. Her voice turned to cut glass as she indicted him, "I've been to your apartment, House."

As the song says, there's a time when to hold 'em and a time when to fold 'em. House capitulated in his own unique way, "Aha, the fruit of our wooden loins! Wilson, you misplaced our love child!"

Wilson was in no condition to respond. The reminders of past good times were beginning to get a rise out of him. He was having a hard time deciding if he should keep his hands over his face or move them down to his lap. The lap won by a nose.

The evidence was getting harder and harder to refute. Tritter would have won if Cuddy worked for him. All House could do was let his bite morph into a frustrated bark, "Are you through, or do you have our DNA test results in there too?!"

Looking smug, Cuddy responded, "Almost done. Only two more items." A pair of size 36 black worsted trousers, and a size "L" Van Morrison t-shirt were held up in each of her hands in victory. "Do you want these back?"

Wilson shook his head no, but House couldn't resist. It was one of his favorites. It flew into his face while he was nodding his assent.

Cuddy surveyed both men. They looked slightly humbled. "I don't want to write you up for this. It doesn't do any of us any good, but I want you to rethink your shenanigans--"

"--And be more careful next time? You're looking at this the wrong way. Why do you think Wilson and I never use our sick time?"

"Do me a favor, and stay at home when you have a fever or you're feeling hot. Don't use the hospital as your personal playground. Other people are happy to stay home, why can't the two of you?"

"Wilson doesn't get the concept of 'home.' It's an offshoot of his people wandering around in the desert for 40 years."

"Then rent a room."

"Seriously?" House was warming to his subject, "A hotel room to Wilson is the equivalent of a vacation home. He gets homesick every time he passes a Holiday Inn."

Up until now the oncologist had little to say, but the Econo Lodge jokes appeared to be getting under his skin, "It's not quiet around House's apartment either. Ever since House and I committed to each other, his hookers won't stop coming around and bothering us. They can't cope with the big drop in their income."

Icy blue eyes bored into Wilson.

"Wha--? Wha'd I say?"

Cuddy's satellite dish was aimed at them both. She heard the same word that House did. "You two are committed?"

It was House's turn to slide down in his chair. His eyes downcast, his arm waved at the box, "This was our form of pre-marital sex. We haven't gone public, but Wilson and I tied the knot two weeks ago."

Wilson slipped his left hand into his pants pocket. When it came out, his ring finger was sporting a gold wedding band and his face was wreathed in a smile.

They all looked at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

A smile suffused Cuddy's face as if the sun broke through the clouds, "Then I have nothing to worry about because we all know how many pennies get taken out of the jar after a couple wed. Congratulations gentleman. You're secret is safe with me." She stood up, signaling the conclusion of the meeting.

The two men crooked eyebrows at each other and made a beeline to safety, but before they could open the door, they heard Cuddy's voice, "Wait a moment. You forgot my wedding gift to you." The wooden man was doing a happy dance in her hand." Wilson walked over and smiled sheepishly as she handed it over. "Mazel tov."

Neither doctor talked till they were encapsulated in the elevator. Wilson looked wistfully at the four walls, and sighed, "Guess the honeymoon is over, House. Cuddy's installed surveillance equipment and probably changed all the locks on the doors."

House offered up an evil grin. "Not so fast, Beethoven. Don't rollover and play dead just yet." He administered a medicinal kiss on the disappointed man's cheek. We know what she knows and how she plans to catch us. A few precautions, like discovering where she hid the cameras and covering them up, and we're back in business."

Most of Cuddy's challenges were solved in his head before House's foot stepped out of the elevator. Wilson followed but his face was solemn, "Do you think she's right? About sex getting boring now that we're married?"

House waggled his eyebrows, "Not a chance. Breaking and entering into all the rooms again will only add a spice to our second honeymoon."

Stopping in his tracks, "Hey Wilson, it was about time you opened your mouth when you did. Cuddy is unshakeable when she thinks her hospital is being defiled."

"Yeah, I noticed," Wilson answered dryly. I got the hint you were fighting a losing battle when you started on my nomadic lifestyle. I hoped slipping in the "C" word would catch her attention. Sorry, I knew we didn't want to break it to her this soon."

"A small sacrifice Wilson. I'm grateful that you saved our asses. I have lots of plans for yours.

A soft laugh escaped from the oncologist, "The feeling is mutual." Passion glittered in the dark brown eyes, "Let's begin our new tour with the 4th floor supply closets." He emphasized his idea by flashing his newly decorated hand, "I'm positive four is my lucky number."

_Fin._

Thank you for reading. Comments welcome.


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